Scars
by SophieRomanoff
Summary: Laying in bed after a hard mission, Clint and Natasha start a conversation about their scars. Feeling like they know each other better, leads them to think about their relationship and their first kiss may be around the corner. More fluffy than usual. Day 8 of prompt challenge, enjoy!


Hey everyone welcome to day 8 of the prompt challenge. Warnings for chat about self-harm and suicide attempts, as well as other wounds.

SCAR

Between the two agents, Natasha and Clint had an awful lot of scars. They never spoke about them and no one ever brought it up with them. For one, they were too afraid of the couple and second, they realised it was none of their damn business.

After a particular messy mission, Clint and Natasha were in the formers room at Shield. Sinking down onto the side of the bed, Natasha pulled a face and dragged a hand over her eyes.

"We really need to clean up. I feel disgusting." She muttered, trying to work up the energy and get her bitching muscles to cooperate.

Clint snorted. "For sure. We went past the stinking stage about two days ago." He smiled tiredly but forced himself up and offered his hand.

Accepting, Natasha followed him into the bathroom. They'd long gone past the point of being nervous and embarrassed undressing in front of each other.

Clint turned the hot water on and turned to Natasha. "Can I?" He asked gently, pulling off his own shirt and throwing it straight in the trash.

Natasha nodded, stifling a yawn. "Be my guest, I honestly cannot be bothered." She shrugged, a tried smile pulling at her lips.

Clint grinned and turned her back towards him, carefully unzipping and peeling back her cat suit. He pulled the material all the way to her feet and helped her step out. He made quick work of the rest of her clothes, and his own before steering her into the shower.

Once under the water, Natasha let a soft groan escape her lips. "Damn that feels good."

Clint chuckled and squirted her favourite shower gel onto a loofah, vanilla pumpkin, the one he'd got her for their first Christmas. She'd used for the two years after that Christmas and no matter when, Clint always managed to replace it before it ran out.

After a soft hand gesture, asking for permission, Clint started to wash her upper body, humming softly as he did so. Blood and dirt dripped down and into the drain.

"This okay?" He asked softly, brushing her hair off the back of her neck.

Natasha nodded silently, signing a quick thank you for his question.

After a mission had gone wrong and Clint had been left temporarily deaf, they'd both learned sign language. They used it often, when they were tired or on a mission where they couldn't talk. They did it just to piss Phil off, because the man had never gotten the hang of it.

Natasha tipped her head forward and sighed softly, oh so grateful for her Clint. She still got jumpy sometimes, and there were often times that Natasha didn't want anyone to touch her at all. It was always best, if they weren't in a dire a circumstance, to ask her. Most of the time, she would say it was fine to touch her.

But sometimes, when the thought of hands touching her was too much, Clint would simply sit a little distance away until she was comfortable.

When she was tired like this though, she liked touching, as long as it was Clint and only Clint.

After washing away the soap suds, he began to wash her hair. Whilst doing that, he massaged her scalp, earning little mewls from Natasha.

Clint grinned, a little smug. After washing out the shampoo, he quickly washed himself, scrubbing hard to get through the layer of grime coating his skin.

Natasha leaned against the wall and let the water wash over her face, sighing softly.

Once they were all done, Clint clambered out, handing Tasha a big fluffy towel. They were definitely not Shield issue and Clint had actually spent a small fortune on them. He told Natasha that they spent a long time winding down after missions so why shouldn't they have comfortable towels?

Natasha had agreed, as long as he didn't try to force the pink on her.

After getting dry, they both flounced on the bed, both of them in pairs of Clint's boxers, a black tank top on Natasha. Where it was possible, Clint didn't like wearing clothes to bed and Natasha had a thing about her legs being constricted. They both clambered on top of the covers and lay down, only a little light on the bedside cabinet illuminating their faces.

Clint lay on his back, one arm behind his head. Natasha crawled beside him and leaned her head on his chest.

Smiling, Clint ran a hand through her damp hair.

After a few seconds of just laying there, Natasha rubbed her thumb over a scar on the side of his chest.

"What's this from?" She asked softly, sitting up to face him.

Clint, feeling comfortable, realising that even if he didn't want to answer, Natasha wouldn't mind.

"Oh god, I have so many it's hard to remember sometimes." He frowned, pulling a face as he thought. "Ah, that one was maybe one of my first missions at Shield. Some guy blew out a fish tank, trying to get away, and I got glass stuck in my side." He shrugged, sitting up more now.

Natasha just nodded. "You wanna...ask me about any? I don't mind." She said softly.

Clint hummed and nodded, reaching forward to tap where he knew a scar lay beneath her shirt. "I never asked, just assumed, but that was The Winter Soldier thing?"

Natasha nodded. That had been one of their only missions apart. She hadn't let him come to her for a week after that mission, so he'd never tended her wound like they usually did.

And so it began, both of them reaching and pointing at a scar.

Some they knew, like the scar around Natasha's neck. She'd tried to kill herself shortly after coming to America.

The white lines across her thighs and arms, he knew too.

She knew about the scar on his shoulder, the one left by his brother.

Others, they'd gotten on missions together, scars from guns and knives. One on her thigh from a building explosion, one through his hand from a torture session.

"This one?" Natasha asked.

"Um...mission in Germany, man got angry." He chuckled.

"This one?"

"The Red Room left that one." She shrugged.

It was pleasantly cathartic to have all their scars and wounds laid out in front of one another.

When they'd eventually ran out of ran out of scars to discuss, Natasha lay back down, stretching out and yawning.

"That was nice, thank you Tasha." Clint hummed, stroking a hand down her back.

"It was." She agreed softly.

"You know I heard Jenkins talking to the new recruit earlier." Natasha smirked, her finger idly drawing a pattern across his chest.

"I'm sure you did. And?"

"Well she was asking whether anyone actually listened to the interpersonal agent relationship rules. And he told her that if Black Widow and Hawkeye didn't have to listen to the rules, then no one else did."

Clint blinked and nodded. "Ah, I see. They think we're together."

"Actually, he thinks we're married." Natasha chuckled.

"Oh." Clint blinked then grinned. "Why does everyone assume that?" He snickered.

"I guess because we're so close." Natasha shrugged, tilting her head up to look at him.

"I guess so." Clint shook his head, bemused. "Not necessarily a bad thing for them to think. Though Phil is gonna be mad that we're making them think that rule doesn't matter." He chuckled.

"Yeah he is. But...is it so strange to think of us together?" Natasha sat up, turning to face him.

Clint shrugged. "Not really. We are close and..." he looked away, a little red in the face.

"And what?" She frowned, still terrible at reading cues. A mark? Completely easy to read. Clint? Difficult.

"I have wanted to kiss you for a while." He chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck the way he did when he was nervous.

"Really?" Natasha blinked.

"Yeah, Tash, c'mon." He mumbled. "It wasn't obvious?"

"It uh...Maybe?" She frowned, tilting her head back.

"I...dammit, I shouldn't have said anything. I know it's not...you're not there yet and...even if you were, why would you pick me?" He mumbled.

"Clint?"

"What?"

"Shut up." Natasha said fondly, leaning closer to him. "Can I kiss you?" She asked softly, her eyes twinkling.

"I...uh...fuck...yes." Clint stammered, lifting his head.

Natasha leaned in and closed the distance, pressing her lips to his. It was fleeting, a couple of seconds at most but as she pulled back, a grin on her face, they realised it had been the single best kiss of both of their lives.


End file.
